


Red Riding Hood

by tooyoungtobesostressed



Series: Disney Princes [3]
Category: Little Red Riding Hood - All Media Types
Genre: Blind Red Riding Hood, Blind protagonist, Gen, Genderbend Fairytales, Genderbending, Genderswap Riding Hood, Graphic Injury, Legally blind, Male Red Riding Hood, Physical Disability, Pneumonia, Pre-Industrial Revolution, Red Riding Hood Elements, blind, countryside, forest, woodcutter - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:54:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26787013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tooyoungtobesostressed/pseuds/tooyoungtobesostressed
Summary: A modern retelling of the fairy tale: Red Riding Hood. Draws parts from many of the earlier versions of this story, including the author's twists and style.
Series: Disney Princes [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1605280
Comments: 14
Kudos: 9





	Red Riding Hood

**Author's Note:**

> As hard as I could, I tried to elongate this story to the length of its predecessors, but its origin as a fable meant that the key parts of the story were few.  
> I really hope you enjoy this. It's a lot more action than you've seen from my work, and I had fun with playing around with description in multiple senses.  
> Have fun!

They moved to the countryside when he was young.

Although he was only seven at the time, he remembered it clearly: trips from the house-doctor; late-night discussions by the stove; constant worry about his wellbeing.

He could hear in their voices that they were scared of moving to the countryside; they had no skills required to live there. Nor did they have family or friends to move with. Only family to move to.

He could feel it in how they touched him. Their grip was soft and gentle; their affection was more persistent than normal; their hands were easily soothed by him.

He was too young to know what was happening. And, for many days, his parents had not realized it either. It was after he’d fallen down the stairs, taken the hand of a stranger, almost walked in front of a moving carriage, and claimed that he couldn’t see where he was going that his parents grew suspicious and called for the expertise of a house-doctor.

* * *

Months stretched into years, and he could barely remember his childhood in the city. He was fourteen now. His family became well-versed in the art of grapevine harvesting and his days helping his parents farm left him tan and stocky. His hair had lightened to blonde in the sun, despite the fact that he was rarely seen without a hood or a hat to protect from the harsh glares of the weather.

As his ablepsy progressed, he saw less and less of the world. His deep blue eyes centered into cloudy white pupils. He could see shadows and know when it was light or dark outside. He could see blurry shapes and some colours- if they were brilliant enough.

He navigated the world through touch, sound, taste, and smell. He barely remembered his sight- he had been too young, but images of what he had seen as a child flitted through his mind like memories of what once was.

* * *

“Red! Breakfast is ready!”

He smiled, quickly putting his socks on before leaving his room.

Not long after he was diagnosed with unidentified blindness, he and his parents noticed his sight had retained an affinity for the colour red. It popped out in his ochre vision like a rose in a field of yellow tulips. Now, he saw evidence of it all around his home. His room was dotted with red objects, the stairs were lined with red paint on the steps. His parents wore red too; his mother often wore a red handkerchief around her neck and his father rarely left the house without his red suspenders.

He walked down the stairs, feeling the familiar groove of the wooden railing against his hand. The railing was cold; it would be a cooler day today. At the bottom of the stairs hung his beloved red riding hood; a gift from his father on his thirteenth birthday. He touched it on the way down, feeling the familiar fuzz and warmth of cotton on his palm. He smiled nostalgically.

He followed the familiar creaks in the floor to the dining room. His mum was humming in the kitchen, her naturally low voice bleeding into the sound of the boiling water on the stove. The light in the room was a warmer yellow than usual. This, and the faint, musky smell of rain by the front door told Red it was cloudy outside, and it had rained through the night.

“Well _someone’s_ smiley today” his mother observed. Her voice had a teasing tone to it.

Red simply smirk as he navigated his way to his chair. There were three chairs at the table; each made of wood, each carved differently. Red merely had to run his hand over the top of the chair to find his.

“I always look forward to seeing nonno and nonna.”

His mother huffed out a laugh. “Of course. You bring them food every week, but today-” Red could hear her voice strain as she smiled, “-today is special.”

His mother touched his back to let him know she was behind him, and put a plate of food in front of him. He knew it was covered with eggs, meat, cheese, and bread- his favourite breakfast- and thanked her.

He smiled as he busied himself with the food. “I don’t know what you mean” he mumbled into his food.

His mother laughed, almost covering up the sound of his father’s heavy steps coming into the kitchen door.

“Fabi, are you giving our poor boy a hard time?”

“Of course not, polpetto.”

His father was well versed in his mother’s witty retorts, and so snorted in laughter.

There was a shifting of the floor. Red’s father gently touched the back of his son’s neck as he sat down at the table next to him. His mother put two more plates on the table before she herself sat down. Red closed his eyes as his mother quickly muttered a prayer. When it was finished, he turned to his food.

His mother cleared her throat as they dug into their breakfast. “So, we can expect you back later than usual today, is that correct?”

His father hummed in question. “Hm? Why is that?” Then, when Red inevitably blushed and continued eating his food, he followed with: “is Rosalina and her family back from their holiday?”

The way his father said it made Red realize that they both already knew what a special day this was, and they were both teasing him for it. He smiled. He wasn’t going to make it easy for them.

“Oh? I hadn’t heard they were back yet. In fact, I didn’t even realize they were gone.”

“Oh dear, Red, that was cold, don’t you think?” His father laughed.

“And entirely untrue,” his mother added. “You’ve been counting down the days, my little Pinocchio.”

Red groaned, trying to hide his giggling. “Alright, fine. Rosalina is back. Can I see her today?”

“Of course you can- just be careful after it gets dark.”

“As if I can see any better in the day,” Red grumbled into his food, smiling. His mother snorted.

His father sighed exasperatedly. “You know what I mean, uvanetto.” His tone suddenly became serious. “I’ve heard more reports from last week. They still haven’t caught the wolf that terrorized that poor family in Treviglio.”

“Treviglio!” Red’s hands waved in the air. “That’s so far, babbo!”

“Wolves have legs, Red. They can _move_.” The air was heavy for a moment. Red softened at his father’s concern and nodded solemnly.

“I’ll stay on our path, I promise.”

He noticed that everyone had stopped eating, so got up and felt the table for three plates. He shuffled to the sink to wash the dishes, and heard cups being put on the counter beside him, so he washed those too.

He was deep in thought, thinking about the stories Rosalina would tell him about her holiday. Did she get to ride on a carriage? Was the city everything she had dreamed of?

Did she miss him while she was gone?

Red shook his head and listened to the symphony of his parents’ quiet voices together. His mother’s voice was not much higher that his fathers, but it was unique in its brashness. His father’s voice was smoother, and Red always had to concentrate harder to hear it. Even though he could not hear what they were saying, he loved listening to them; never had he met a couple more in love than his parents.

In his daze, he stumbled over a shoe in the search for the basket he was to give to his grandparents. He had subconsciously made his way to the front door to see if it was ready. After he donned his boots and his red cloak and pulled the hood over his eyes to protect from the glare of the clouds, he felt the contents of the large wicker basket. It was filled to the brim with homemade bread, cheese and butter in a stone container, grapes, some jam, a bottle of wine, and an assortment of other delicatessen such as meat.

The basket was incredibly heavy, but Red picked it up as he had done many times before, eager to start the journey to his grandparents’ house.

“Cia-Ciao!” Red called out as he opened the door. This goodbye was an inside joke within the family that stemmed from its similarity to ‘cha-cha’, a distinction Red had once been too young to make.

“Torni Presto!” was the last thing he heard before he stepped outside.

* * *

The air smelled like warm stone and wet earth. The path beneath him packed slightly into the ground each during each step he took, and he made a conscious note to avoid the familiar dips on the path, as they probably had still had puddles in them. He shifted the basket in his hands and continued, following the familiar grooves and curves of the journey to his grandparents’ house.

When they first chose to move here, when Red was young, they did so because his mother’s parents wrote to them, agreeing with the doctor’s suggestion to move to the countryside, and informing them of a vacant house near their home. Since Red and his parents moved here, the path between both houses was well trodden. First, Red had never been allowed to travel to his grandparents’ house without his parents, but, as he got older, he insisted that he could travel alone, and they had lined the trees along the paths with red ribbons, should he ever get lost on the way. Red knew his parents worried whenever he left the house without them, but he did not take their trust for granted, and so looked up every now and then to glimpse a telling red blur above him, assured that he was still on the path.

As he walked, he thought of when he first met Rosalina and her family. She had a baby brother, who had been in her parents’ arms when the two families were introduced. Rosalina and her family were his grandparents’ neighbours, living only a stone-throw away from one another. The two kids got on immediately and, as they grew up together, their feelings morphed into something bigger. Now their thoughts are often occupied by the image of one-another.

Rosalina had thick, very curly hair. Red’s mother once described her hair as black, and her eyes as brown too. He loved coiling her hair around his fingers as she talked, taken by the structure and versatility of her curls when he played with them. He knew her hair was long, and that she often wore a bright red headband, but these physical attributes did not describe her in the slightest. She could talk for hours, with her strong, sure, but song-like voice. Her mind was always a-flutter with ideas about how the world works, or why people are how they are. Her laugh was crass and abrupt, and always caught Red by surprise when he heard it, which in turn would encourage him to imitate it while she laughed harder. Her steps were heavy, Red could hear her walking towards him from further away than anyone else he knew. She was fit and her muscles were defined; with her mother occupied with her brother, she was her father’s only help in the family’s lemon tree orchard. Like Red, she was stubborn and sure of herself, and their ability to quip at each other with ferocious speed was unmatched. Red did not yet know what love was, but he knew that there was nothing he would not do for her.

A scuffle in the forest beside the path brought him out of his thoughts. He realized that he smelled bread and meat, and checked to see if the basket was properly closed. He found it open and latched the lid shut, hoping no bugs had smelled the food and made their way into the basket.

He realized the sky must have darkened, and wondered if it would rain before he reached his grandparents’ house. While he liked the rain and the basket was rain-proof, he knew his grandparents’ would worry and come looking for him. He thought of his grandfather being bedridden with consumption and tried to walk faster.

Beside him, in the forest, Red heard another scuffle among the bushes and trees, and wondered if the forest animals were seeking cover from the rain. His hypothesis progressed when he felt the first raindrop on his stretched-out hand, cold and fleeting, and he closed his fingers around it, as if he’d be able to keep it. He didn’t remember much about his childhood in the city, but he knew the rain smelled different here, and it’s noise was starker in the silent countryside than it was in the busy city.

He stopped to pull his cloak tighter around him.

There was another shuffle, then silence.

Suddenly, in his pause, his muscles tensed.

After spending years in the countryside, he knew what it was supposed to sound like. Even in the rain, little movements and chattering livened the forest. Red tentatively turned around. His arms were shaking, refusing to listen to the reasoning of his brain. So far from his home, he was increasingly aware of how _vulnerable_ he was. Seeing as little as he did, he had to use his other senses to detect danger around him. Now, the hair on his neck prickled; he suddenly got the terrifying feeling that something was standing right in front of him.

Even turned around and listening carefully, his ears did not pick up any sounds under the rain. He took a step towards the forest, his body screaming at him to run away. He stayed like this for a moment, fighting how scared his reflexes were telling him to be, trying listen to any sounds that could have set of his alarms.

It was faint, but it was steady. Red had not heard it under the rain because the sound was constant and deep; not a warning…

…a threat.

He got the distinct impression that he was being _stalked_.

_The wolf from Treviglio._

His heart stopped.

Or maybe it pounded to fast he couldn’t feel it.

Or maybe it was all he could feel.

No, he was confusing that with his feet pounding on the path, faster than he’d ever run before.

Rain whipped the skin on his face, quickening its pace as Red quickened his. His hood slid off his head, billowing behind him and echoing the wind through it, a sound which clapped in Red’s ears.

He tried to concentrate on the path he knew so well, but his legs were shaking and his thoughts were chaotic. He tried to listen to any indication that the wolf was pursuing him, but his pulse betrayed him; instead, he desperately tried to remember the last thing he said to his parents.

As he ran, Red tried to think of anything, _anything_ , that he could do to save his life. He thought of diving into the forest for cover, but quickly dismissed the idea; the wolf would be more comfortable with the forest than he was- he was bound by his familiarity to the path. His boots splashed onto the ground. His cold breath stung his lungs. He jerked his body around while he ran, trying to hear something behind him.

His ears picked up movement in the forest; rustling bushes, broken twigs. The sounds were gaining on him, and Red knew he would never outrun a wolf. Nevertheless, he ran faster, knowing is wasn’t much longer before he reached his grandparents’ house.

His thoughts stilled. Would he be putting his grandparents in danger by going to their house? Where else could he go?

He listened to the downpour grow heavier. In his distraction, he slid into a puddle, the wet path beneath him becoming a mud slide. Red called out in fear as he slid forward and fell onto the ground hard. His leg stung, having caught on the gravel on the path, and Red forced himself to ignore the sensation of warm liquid trickling into his ankle.

He scrambled to get up again, the heavy basket- still close to his chest- making it difficult to stand.

Bush twigs broke next to him. Red’s visions darkened as something neared him rapidly, hurtling towards him with deadly precision.

He yelled for his life. Red haphazardly kicked out in front of him, his feet catching the wolf. He heard a vicious bark and heard the snap of the wolf’s fangs near his legs, then screamed as he realized how close the wolf was to him. He took the handle of the heavy wicker basket and flung it around him aimlessly as he tried to stand, swinging harder when he felt the excruciating pain of the wolf’s claws catch his thigh and tearing through his muscle.

He should have thrown the basket at the wolf. He should’ve at least started running. Instead, Red desperately opened the latch and grabbed at the assortment of meats inside, lobbing them carelessly around him. Then, he turned and sprinted towards his grandparents’ house.

As he ran, he forced himself to un-grit his teeth. There was blood in his mouth and in the air, it added a horrific metallic layer to the rain. His right leg was trembling beneath him, barely keeping him up with his scratched-up calf and his wounded thigh.

His cloak was heavy with rain and mud. He tried to pull his hood over his eyes as the glare of a sudden bright light pained his eyes, throbbing through his head in beat with his blood. He heard thunder in the distance and thought of Rosalina, who loved that sound. He hated that he was bringing danger to her and to his grandparents, but he knew the only way to survive the wolf was to have a weapon of his own.

He briefly wondered if the wolf was still pursuing him- he hadn’t heard any more noises behind him since he’d thrown the meat, although he couldn’t be sure, and didn’t dare hope that the meat was enough for the beast. The wolf’s growl rung through his ears over and over again, interrupted only by the sound of his skin ripping on his legs.

Red’s muscles throbbed with adrenaline and fear. His heart knew only one speed, and his lungs struggled to pump air into his body. He wiped his drenched curls out of his eyes- something he hadn’t done since he was a child. It was quiet under the rain.

A horrifying realization dawned on him, making him run even faster, ignoring his injured leg.

He was close to his grandparents’ house now.

Wolves don’t attack prey that fights back when there is weaker, more defenceless prey.

Suddenly it made sense why he hadn’t heard the wolf’s movements in some time. His tears bled into the rain drops on his face.

The distinctive smell of his grandparents house hit him from several metres away, the dampened air carrying the scent further than usual. The rain was louder now, and Red’s legs had not stopped bleeding. He could see the brilliant red of his blood leave blurry footprints behind him as the rain washed the flowing blood to the ground. The familiar smell of his grandparents’ house, mixed with the metallic taste of blood and lightning in the air, gave him a horrible sense of foreboding as he ran to the house’s doorstep.

“Nonno? Nonna?”

He knocked on the door, only to find it swinging further open as he did. He dropped the basket where he stood, and forced himself to breathe slowly. He heard glass break in the basket, then smelled wine.

“Nonna?”

He stepped through the door, into the kitchen and living room area. Hastily, he opened the drawers to find a carving knife, his hand clenching the unique handle tightly when he did. With the knife, he searched the house for his grandparents, for the wolf, for anything. The first floor was uncluttered and open, occupied with occasional red furniture. Red’s shaky hands navigated through the rooms, trying to find any indication that his grandparents were okay.

It was so quiet in the house; the rain pattered outside like a distant memory. Red’s heart felt heavy at the silence- his grandparents usually waited in the living room for him when he came, and their lack of response weighed on him like a premonition.

He found his way to the stairs and climbs the steps. The wood had recently been made damp, and Red made an effort not to slip. The textured wood of the stair railing reminded him of his home, of this morning. He wondered if he’d ever have breakfast with his parents again.

His leg still trembled, and his winces made it difficult to drag himself to the second floor. He payed not mind to his pain however, after he noticed, as icy fear crept around his throat, that he could smell wet fur the further he made his way up the steps.

He readjusted his grip on the knife.

When he reached the top of the stairs, he turned around to face the second floor. From the darkness of the surroundings, Red could tell that no doors had been opened. He stepped forward slowly, his heart pounding, towards his grandparents’ room, in which only his grandfather slept during his illness. Especially in cold weather like this, his grandfather’s condition usually got worse, and he would spend his days in deep sleep.

He walked slowly, almost at the door, when a harsh sound made him jump out of his skin and yell.

A bark, followed by determined scratching against wood.

Red froze, realizing the wolf was likely in front of him and ready to pounce. It had tried to get into his grandparents’ room- he wondered with the beating of his heart if they were okay.

“Nonno? Nonna?” He yelled, and his calling out made the wolf growl.

Part of him wondered how he could possibly still be alive, and wondered if he’d injured the wolf in some way. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. He had to get the beast away from his grandparents.

He also had to let them know that he was here, and what was happening.

“My!” He called out, and the wolf deepened its growl at the sound, “grandma, what big _ears_ you have!”

Red never called his nonna grandma; it was the only way he knew to warn her without panicking her. He stepped back towards the stairs slowly, sure that he had the wolf’s attention now. He wondered if it would follow him downstairs, and listened to its growls- if they were getting closer to him.

He heard no other noise around him, and wondered where his grandmother was. He knew he could not take down a wolf alone with his injuries, and she was incredibly strong, spending her days chopping wood in the backyard. He briefly wondered if she was there now, then remembered that it was raining heavily. _Where is she?_

When he called out again, he did it louder, trying to reach the whole house.

“My, Grandma! What a _long nose_ you have!”

The wolf hated his yelling, its growl warning him that it was getting closer. Red could sense its agitation rising with its snapping teeth, its indignant sniffs- even the heaviness in its footsteps. He turned the corner and walked down the steps backwards, his injured leg complaining as he did.

Louder, now. “Oh my! Grandma! _What sharp teeth you have_!”

The wolf snarled. The floor beneath it creaked as it shifted its weight and pounced forward. Before it even landed, Red was stumbling down the stairs in his haste to run from it, trying to keep from impaling himself with the knife. He hit the bottom of the stairs with a groan, and tried to crawl away. He screamed when the wolf bit his ankle and dragged him into the living room, his foot numbing and his leg burning with pain at the wolf’s harsh movements. He tried to slash at the wolf with the knife, and heard a whine as the knife made contact.

Red briefly felt sorry the beast, until the whimper turned into a low growl and its claws slashed Red’s back as he failed to stand. He fell to the ground, yelling, and tried to coerce his legs to crawl away from the wolf. His vision was dotted with blurs of red, and he felt sick at the sight of blood everywhere. He tore off his cloak when it got caught under his feet, and threw it at the wolf, who shook it off quickly. In a last attempt to kill the wolf, he stabbed forward desperately, and recoiled when he felt unforgiving pain on the side of his face. He barely recognized that his knife had been torn from him- hopefully because it had reached its mark. Still, the wolf had scratched his jaw, narrowly missing what it was aiming for: his neck.

Red tried not to vomit as blood streamed down his neck and through his tattered clothes. He felt faint. He knew he had lost too much blood to continue, but worried for the safety of his family and of Rosalina’s family. His mind darkened with exhaustion, and he could only crawl backwards while the wolf’s growl stalked him, having finally made him weak enough to kill.

Suddenly he became aware of other noises around him, other smells. He wondered if his body was becoming hyper-aware in its last moments, but just under the smell of blood and wet fur, he could smell wood and lemons. Next to the nearing growling of the wolf, he heard his name being called, and heavy footsteps.

He clenched his eyes shut, ready for the wolf’s final attack, when something- someone fell into him violently. Red’s breath was forced out of his lungs as he was pushed into the floor and the wall, and his ears rung with a horrifying, protective scream, overpowering the wolf’s attack overwhelmingly.

His injured back radiated pain through his body. The last thing he heard before his mind shut down was the familiar tearing of flesh, and a heartbreaking whimper.

“Red…”

* * *

He wasn’t gone for long.

A sense of urgency woke him, bringing back from the deep slumber his body had forced him into for his own defence. Flashes of memory came back to him. For a moment, he thought they were a dream, then, when he realized they were not part of a dream, he fought to wake, screaming and thrashing when he did.

“Red.” A soft voice called out, followed by a hand trying to gather his desperate arms. “Red! You’re alright, you’re safe- it’s okay!”

Red frowned as he realized he recognized that voice. “I’m going to touch your face, okay?” She said. Calloused hands wiped the tears from his eyes, and gently touched the side of his face.

The voice was soft and scared. It sounded like it had been crying, but it was her voice, nevertheless. Rosalina.

“Rosalina…” he mumbled, tired again now that the adrenaline wore out.

The surface on which he was lying hummed. “I’m here too, mimmo-” he relaxed further into his grandmother as she ran her hand through his curls. She had not called him that since he was much smaller; she sounded worried.

“How do you feel?”

Red reached forward to take Rosalina’s hands in his own. Normally he would have been embarrassed to have to be taken care of like this, but he was aching all over and had since forgotten about feeling embarrassed. His wounds were covered tightly with a cloth, and Red could feel dull pain throbbing from them. He knew he needed a doctor.

He smiled weakly in response, and winced as Rosaline gingerly moved his chin, likely to inspect his bloody jaw.

She sighed in frustration. Rosalina hated feeling useless, and he could feel her desperation.

“The doctor’s not coming fast enough.” She mumbled grumpily.

His grandmother chuckled softly, wrapping her arms around Red protectively. “It will only be a matter of time, my loves. Patience.”

Red groaned as his leg muscles trembled. Rosalina’s hand tightened around his and he squeezed hers in return.

“The wolf-?”

“Don’t worry, Red. Your nonna killed the beast with her axe when we found you two. I’m…” Her voice broke. “Oh, Red. I’m so sorry for- for-”

He squeezed her hand, and she started crying. She didn’t cry a lot, and Red could tell she was crying out of shock. Her sobs were desperate for air, and she could not speak through her tears.

“Rosalina it’s okay, I’m f-”

She laughed darkly while she cried, making is sound like she had gasped.

“Mimmo,” his grandmother spoke for Rosalina. “You are most definitely not fine. We are so very sorry we didn’t help sooner.” Red sunk further into her lap. “I saw that it had rained and ran out to cover the wood. Rosalina saw my rush and helped. We came as soon as we heard you-”

His grandmother’s chest trembled. Red suddenly realized that they hadn’t thought he would wake up again.

His body ached once more, and he remembered someone slamming into him before he slipped into darkness. “Did- did someone run into me before I-I-”

Rosalina giggled through her sobs.

His grandmother hummed. When she spoke, it was with a mixture of pride, gratitude, and a mild disapproving tone. “When we ran to the house and saw the wolf ready to pounce on you, I got my axe and threw it at the beast. Rosalina, here, jumped right in front of you and almost had her arm torn off.”

Red sucked in his breath and reach towards Rosalina gingerly, trying to find her injured arm. She gently took his hand and led it to the warm and smooth cotton of her bandages, whispering softly when she could see the guilt on his face: “there is nothing I won’t do for you, Red.”

Red heard his grandmother sigh deeply. His heart squeezed with a torrent of emotions. “But-”

She brought his hand to her lips and kissed it. “Red. We’re alive. I wouldn’t take it back for the world.”

Warmth filled his chest as the gravity of what they had done for him reached his understanding. Because of them, he could be with them, his parents, and his grandfather again. Because of them, he was alive.

He took his grandmother’s hand and pulled Rosalina closer to him. “Grazie di cuore.” He whispered to them. “You saved my life.”

As the three of them touched their heads together, gently, so as not to jostle Red, he wondered if the wolf was still in the room with them. He briefly thought, with a frightened shiver, of how close he’d come to death.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave comments! Love hearing from y’all.


End file.
